PATRIARCH FOWL
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Casual Heroing, Chapter 140
🕑 Added 2023-07-17 19:46:36 +0000 UTCNext chapter comes out Tuesday, July 18th!
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SIGNING?! 📝📝📝
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Chapter 140 – Sign Up
“So, explain to me what we are going to do,” I ask Magister Mulligan.
The old man is standing in front of me as I sit on my bed. His long, Merlin-like beard is something out of an Arthurian soap.
“You will be trained in the ways of the Vanedeni, young Luciani.”
“Which is…?”
“Which is to fight. Fighting is what the Vanedeni do, no matter their class. I could have had a [Shoemaker] from my era take on the slob who challenged you. No—you will face the most rigorous training. We have less than fourteen days since you’ve used up some of the time already.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I shrug, “it had to be done.”
“I know,” Magister Mulligan nods at me. “I respect loyalty, young Joey Luciani. You are misguided in many aspects, but you are not a Dragon. Your loyalty is admirable.”
He really has beef with Dragons, doesn’t he?
“Yes, beef, if you want to call it such. Dragons are tyrants no one chose. They have never considered what their actions might mean for the rest of the world. They take and destroy—it is their very nature to hoardand dally around.”
“Right, mind-reading. I’ve forgotten about that for a second,” I sigh.
Magister Mulligan gives me a long glance before smiling.
“You are still under the effect of [Mindful Clarity], young Luciani. I have cast that spell and another spell over your bed, [Tenfold Rest], to make life easier for you. Now, as you would put it in Earthly terms, you are about to face hell. Or the expression I found even more fascinating, ‘shit is about to hit the fan.’”
“Sorry?” I raise an eyebrow. “You learned that stuff as well? Wait, [Mindful Clarity]? Is that why my brain feels better?”
“Why, yes. What did you think it was due to? Some good sleep? Misguided, as always. I plundered several bits of knowledge from you, and I consider those a part of my payment. [Mindful Clarity] can be kept up at all times too. Unlike the inferior solutions of your world, it won’t hit diminishing effects, apart from making it harder for you to acquire the skills that do the same. But that is a shallow problem for a mage: as soon as you are done with the Cantrips, you shall learn this spell and many more from me.”
“Good,” I shrug.
At this point, I am beyond protesting the invasion of privacy.
“Well,” the [Archmage] strokes his beard, “it is dependent on whether you will survive the training. But we shall see.”
“Ok? So… what’s up? What are we going to do?”
“I fear, young Luciani, that you are underestimating the requisitesto be my disciple. Before we start, I will need to put you through one last test. It’s something that could be extremely simple for anyone else to decide, but that might very well break someone like you.”
“What? You can conjure Selena Gomez and have her marry me?”
The [Archmage] looks confused.
“No? I mean, at this point, there’s not much else that would have me reconsider the offer, you know? Is there a hidden stake, some weird sex secret? Like, my man, I’m sorry, but you are not my typ—”
ZAP!
My body starts seizing, electricity running all over it.
“Discipline will be the first thing I’ll teach you,” the old man gives me a slimy smile. “But first, I need you to understand what it means to be a Vanedeni.”
As he speaks, I’m on the ground seizing, barely able to hear him. But when he speaks the next words, the current gives me some respite. Now, however, it’s his loquacious nature torturing me.
“A Vanedeni is much more than a hotheaded idiot that wields a big weapon. The large swords we used are mostly justified by the fact we had to slay greater monsters hiding in all the natural Dungeons that plagued Kome. They are a beautiful remnant of our culture, but on their own, they constitute little more than a symbol.
“In fact,” he continues, “fighting as a Vanedeni means taking unsurmountable odds with honor. [Strategists] and [Generals] might still be cunning and employ trickery to defeat the opponent, but no Vanedeni shall ever break the honor they hold in their chest—not like Mauser did, young Luciani. I will personally slay you if, at any point, you exhibit such a twisted personality.”
Comforting, I think, massaging my electrocuted muscles.
“A Vanedeni’s greatest strength is the standard they hold themselves to in their solitude. Honor can manifest as power, classes, and levels. It has pushed my ancestors and descendants to accomplish the greatest deeds. And while they suffer now, I have no doubt that one day, they shall rise again.”
The old man pauses his monologue shortly before looking intently at me.
“You are about to benefit from the kind of heritage that would make [Kings] and [Queens] of these slums the heroes and conquerors of a new era. But with all great rewards, great risks follow. You will be tested at every corner, and if you ever relax, death is the only consolation prize you’ll receive.”
Again, very comforting, I think to myself and exhale.
“Alright. So, you want me to become a Vanedeni. All good. Can I skip the introductory monologue and go to the tutorial now?”
Magister Mulligan laughs out loud in my face.
“Oh, young Luciani, you truly don’t understand. But don’t worry. I have always found words of little to no use to carry concepts. Practical demonstrations are superior in every case.”
One wouldn’t have guessed; I snort to myself.
ZAP!
“Now, it has been some time since my imprisonment at the hands of that filthy Dragon, whom we shall slay one day. It has made me chatty, as you would say. I hold too much knowledge not to dispense it to the future generations.”
It takes all my willpower to avoid a sassy comment, and I can already feel the electricity running down my spine.
Damned old man.
“There’s still a long way before you are considered even remotely close to a Vanedeni, but all journeys must start somewhere. Yours starts here,” Magister Mulligan extends a hand, and a long piece of parchment appears in it, decorated with thousands of words.
“What’s that?” I say, feeling my spidey senses tingle.
“That is your contract to become my disciple. You are a special [Mage], young Luciani, but we will still do things properly. It is an extremely simple agreement that binds us together so that you shall not reveal my existence and take all responsibility for what shall happen to you in future training. It is a formality, truly, but an important one.”
I raise my eyebrows and then my hands.
“No, no, no. I don’t think so. First, I am notspecial, buddy. Second, I ain’t signing no contracts.”
“Well, young Luciani, you are special. You might still deny it, since you cannot distinguish a curse from a blessing, but that matters little to us. Your training will be eye-opening. Now, the contract is non-negotiable. You will sign it.”
“Nope. I can say my acceptance out loud, but I am not readingnor signing that.”
“The only way you will become my disciple is through this very contract. You shall read it word by word until you can recite it verbatim. I am no Dragon in the business of tricking my disciples. Then, you will take a pen and sign your name with your blood. And don’t worry about the blood; a little cut will suffice—nothing compared to the training you are about to undertake.”
“Well, Magister Mulligan, fuhgeddaboudit; it is nothappening. I can’t sign contracts. Listen, I’m sure there’s an alternative here, right? We are both reasonable, no? Can’t I just—”
“Young Joey Luciani,” Magister Mulligan speaks with a grave tone, “would you rather have your friend’s mother die without hope like your mother did, or will you sign a contract that will open the doors to an incredible future? There’s no other choice. What is it going to be?”
I feel a lump in my throat and my extremities going cold. Sweat forms on my forehead as I open and close my mouth in rapid succession, trying to muster a response. There’s almost affront in my heart at what the man’s just said, at how plainly he laid out the problem for me.
But he’s right, isn’t he?
Sign a contract or let someone die of cancer?
Christ, I swear internally, feeling another bout of bile coming up to my mouth.
“Rottenbone,” Magister Mulligan says, “is a nasty curse. Mauser crafted it for the highest-level warriors and that even his powerful Undead would have struggled with. It’s meant to slowly dissolve your bones and organs, leaving behind a memento of death for all his enemies. The Vanedeni could have won the war with it, but thankfully, they knew better than to accept such a despicable man in charge.
“I’m saying this,” he adds, “because your friend’s mother won’t pass lightly. She will die screaming, her bones liquified. And I only know of one [Mage] alive with enough alien knowledge that might be able to save her.”
The old man’s words are akin to bullets going through my neck. I feel like I’m slowly bleeding out the nonsense that I would have otherwise mustered up in a situation like this to evade the problem. But he laid it out in such a clear manner that there’s nothing I can say without losing all my face and self-respect.
I just stare at him, into his deep eyes and at the huge leather hat on his head. I take in the powerful figure for several moments before thinking of the encounter with my mother and then going back to Claudia.
“O-Ok,” I stutter. “I will sign the contract. Let me see it.”
Magister Mulligan makes the contract flow in front of me without saying another word.
As the parchment comes to rest, barely one foot away from me, I start shaking. My whole body feels like Jell-O.
“Shit,” I swear, as my vision starts swimming.
Calm down, you idiot, I tell myself, digging my nails into my palms.
“So—I, Joey Luciani,” I start reading out loud. “I—I take upon me the tutelage of—”
I suddenly heave, bending forward and vomiting the cake I had eaten a few hours prior. I keep dry-heaving for a minute before raising my upper body shakily and looking at the contract again.
“I, Joey Luciani,” I start from the beginning, “I take upon me the tutelage of Magister Mulligan, to be trained in the arts and traditions—”
Then, my vision stops swimming – it just goes black.
It’s like an out-of-body experience when I realize I’m having a seizure.
Haven’t had one in ages, I think to myself. This was a terrible idea.
But when I come back to my senses, I am surprisingly not on the ground.
I turn to my right, and I see the tall man with the huge hat holding tightly onto my arms, keeping me upright.
“Steady your feet, young Luciani,” he says, paying no attention to the fact that I just had a medical-emergency-grade event.
Something, however, washes over me. It’s not the old man; it’s just the moment.
It reminds me of my past, the choices not taken.
I look at the parchment again, with much more resolution than I have ever had to any other contract.
I start squeezing out each word again, this time with purpose.
“I, Joey Luciani. I take upon me the tutelage of Magister Mulligan,” the words hurt like blazing hot needles plunged into my head, but I know better than to stop, “to be trained in the arts and traditions of the Vanedeni. I swear to uphold the honor and principles of the Vanedeni, face every challenge with courage and determination, and use the power and knowledge I gain not for personal gain but for the greater good—”
My vision goes black again.
I can’t do this, I tell myself.
But when I come back, Magister Mulligan is still holding my arm. He’s not fazed. He just nods imperceptibly at me.
While it might have been a little gesture for him, it gives me all the courage I’ve never had when facing this kind of challenge.
“I, Joey Luciani!” I shout out so heavily that the whole apartment seems to tremble. “I take upon me the tutelage of Magister Mulligan! To be trained in the arts and traditions of the Vanedeni!”
My throat goes dry, and my eyes start swimming again, but this time, I push back.
“I swear to uphold the honor and principles of the Vanedeni! Face every challenge with courage and determination! And use the power and knowledge I gain not for personal gain but for the greater good!”
I can feel in my heart that another seizure is coming, I can see the edges of my vision turning dark, but something anchors me. I feel a tighter grasp on my arm.
“I understand that this training will be rigorous and may lead to physical or mental harm! But I accept this risk in the pursuit of greater power! I pledge not to reveal the existence of Magister Mulligan! Or the knowledge I gain from him to any outside parties without his explicit permission!"
At this point, it’s like drowning. I can’t even breathe.
But I have enough air for the last words.
“And to forever fight with the heart of a [Hero]!”
I pause, my hand shaking as I reach out to the quill pen that Magister Mulligan is offering me. I stab it into my hand—not knowing what else to do, too afraid to delay this, trying to avoid any chances of fainting again.
I sign my name in scarlet blood.
Suddenly, the parchment lights up and explodes in a soundwave that knocks over everything in my apartment.
The chairs, the table, the bed—everything is a mess.
When I turn to Magister Mulligan, though, I get a nod.
And a smile.
“Now, we can begin.”
Comments
Akki
Well done Joey. Fighting a phobia is a tough thing.
Daniel Tabask
Bro I am very impatiently waiting for the day you explain his extreme contract aversion
